Zero Tolerance for Insomnia
by Mirakuru Rein
Summary: HIATUS. AU, story two of the trilogy Naruverse Cubed. The kid ends up finding himself in prison, where he's to be punished wrongfully for the murder of his own sister. Slight NaruGaa, SakuGaa, guess everyone's identities.
1. brandywine

:Zero Tolerance for Insomnia

:mIRAKURU rEIN

--

A/N: A result of staying up late for many days in a row, out of necessity. (It's called APs, man.)

--

chapter 1: brandywine

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"Don't drink too much."

He lowers the kid's glass down a little, forcing the liquid to sway from his lips.

"You'll get liver problems, and we all know you don't want that."

The kid gives him a disgusted look. "Che." He slams the glass down against the counter, wiping his mouth. "You just have no tolerance for alcohol, you lazy jackass."

"What happened to giving elders utmost respect?" he responds with a quirked smile. "Whatever. Don't stay out too long, now. Get some sleep. You're not attractive as a zombie."

The kid has circles under his eyes, but he scoffs. They're permanent, part of his features, and he would loathe to have them gone.

He kicks the sand, which turns into snow, which falls and in turn transforms back to sand.

He shakes his head empty. He must be seeing things. Must be the alcohol.

He can't go home tonight. Home screams bloody murder, home is the place where hell brews its anger, home is the place he lives with two people who don't know who he is. Home is his prison, home is his jail. He was released tonight and he sure as hell doesn't want to go back.

The kid decides to take one last glance up at his city before he hides in the shadows of the back alleys. It's a sandy city, covered in sand, buildings broken down with erosion, sadness hanging in the air and destitution licking the bones of every soul. That's enough. He's seen enough. That's why he keeps his head down while he's walking.

He looks down as his feet, trudging against the soft sand that rose up in the air and fell like snow. This would make a lovely picture, he decides. After all, he is an artist, so why not make this into a lovely pic—

Pain stabs deep into his left shoulder.

He is bewildered at first, stares at it dumbly like it is merely a shallow entity that would flicker away without a moment's notice. Then he realizes that kunai are not supposed to be lodged within his shoulder blade and looks to his left – then up.

It is raining kunai.

He runs. Common sense tells him that the sky does not randomly rain kunai for a reason. Unless this is some fucked-up dream he would rather not be in, common sense tells him another thing – someone is after his life.

Shadows fade in and out of the alleys, something like a horror movie, where the monster knows where you are but you have no idea where or what it is. The kid's seen enough of those movies to know – _get out of the alley or you're fucked as shit._

He turns momentarily in the alleyway but slips – his leg slides out enough so that it is bending the wrong way, and if that isn't enough, two kunai suddenly pierce his back like stakes. He almost screams – all the air in his lungs are pushing towards his mouth, but somehow he tumbles into the wall closest him and starts running in a decidedly hazy, drunken manner.

His hands, without warning, ram into a wall. There is no way out. He stops and stares at the dead end. In his (almost) screaming pain, he had taken the wrong turn.

He looks up and almost excepts to see the Grim Reaper smiling broadly in his face. _Oh God, no, please God, I'll do anything, just as long as I don't die, I'll draw pictures of saints, I'll draw pictures of the sky, just please don't – _

Two kunai pierce the front of his shirt, and he briefly wonders if blood is supposed to feel so warm.

--

He is not dead.

He confirms this when he jolts awake and finds himself bandaged, chained to a less-than-comfortable bed. The walls are white. The air smells pristine with chemicals.

_Oh fuck no._

He can't believe this. What in God's name had he done to make people think he is clinically _insane_? Okay, sure, he is an artist, but it is plain discrimination to say that all artists are nutcases.

Needless to say, there is nothing much he can do to remedy the situation in current state, so he dozes off. Later off, he would say this was one of the worst things he's ever done in his entire life.

--

The next time he wakes up, it is because someone slaps him in the face and throws (presumably) a bucket of water in his face.

The kid coughs on the liquid that travelled up his nose. Would it be safe to say the stupidest form of death is drowning by throwing water in your face?

"Sabaku no Gaara."

He jumps at the sound of his name.

"You are…Sabaku no Gaara, yes?"

The kid looks up, and he sees the most horrific man he's ever seen in his life.

The man has not aged gracefully, or naturally. Premature wrinkles criss-crossed, scars doppled his face like freckles. Deep scars, at that, caused by either knives or blunt objects used hard enough to break skin. He is bald; the top of his head reveals bullet hole wounds – somehow, the man had been able to survive. The rest of his body is covered by a black trench coat, but all the kid can see is scars, scars, scars, and years of damage.

"Sabaku no…Gaara." The kid repeats his name like it is unfamiliar to him and he is trying to learn it. In a way he is – no one has called him that in years. His sole companion who tells him not to drink has called him "kid" all his life, because he knew the kid hated his name, or merely because he hadn't bothered learning it.

"Sabaku no Gaara. I am going to tell you one thing, and then you will be forced to tell me the rest of the things I want to hear. Understand?"

The kid's neck must be broken, because he nods once like a rusty door hinge.

"You are here tonight because this woman was found brutally murdered in her apartment two nights ago."

He held a grotesque picture up to the kid's face. The image was of a blond woman, her head and appendages severed from her body, heart torn out, and opened eyes looking in different directions. The kid bit his tongue.

"Would you mind telling me how you killed her, Sabaku no Gaara?"

--

His mind couldn't put two and two together. _Why am I…what is he…isn't that…_

His eyes widened in horror, brain braked at eternal shock. "_Temari._"

"Yes, and what relation is Temari to you, Sabaku Gaara?"

The kid wished he'd stop throwing his name around like a toy, and he wished he'd stop asking him questions for which answers he already knew.

"She's my…surrogate sister."

"And what are you?"

"I…am an orphan."

--

"She was your legal guardian, yes?"

"Yes."

"Did you two get along well?"

"Very well."

"Did you ever hold a grudge against her?"

"For what reasons?"

"She had a family and you didn't. She didn't look after you like she should have."

"No."

"So what were you doing two nights ago?"

"Two nights ago being the day your police force cut me down?"

"Yes."

"I was out drinking."

"Were you now."

"Yes, I was."

"Why."

"Because."

"Your sister was murdered at 3 AM."

"Really."

"What were you doing then?"

"Taking a walk."

"Really."

"Yes."

"Why is this?"

"I'm an insomniac. You're telling me a guy who doesn't sleep can't go out for a walk?"

"Do you have documentation of this condition?"

"You can ask her relatives. They all know."

"I heard you don't come home some nights."

"I don't. I don't like going home. She's never there."

"Did you love her?"

"…no."

"Did you hate her?"

"…I didn't want her to die, if that's what you mean."

"You are participating at one hundred percent cooperation, correct?"

"Yes."

"Good. Otherwise…"

--

The interrogation went on for two hours. The kid's mouth moved listlessly without any precursory emotion. All that he knew was his brain was going on fire: _Temari, oh God no, why Temari, what am I ever going to tell…?_

--

At last he was taken out of the interrogation room and thrown unceremoniously into a jail cell. The iron doors close with a small squeak.

Ironic, isn't it, that the night he stepped out of his own jail cell he stumbled quite quickly into another one.

--

_If you cough too much, my dear, you'll cough your heart out. (I think it's a little too late for that.)_

--

The first wrong thing the kid notices is that he starts coughing up blood.

The second wrong thing the kid notices is that he is not the only one in the room.

He would run, but confined to the limits of a jail cell, he would just be a masochistic hamster that would start looking tasty once it had gotten properly fatigued.

The kid's first thought: _I am in a small space with a very large fox (with lots of tails, at that), and it is going to eat me._

_Oh holy motherfucking son of a God._

--

_tbc_

_chapter 2: pacing_

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A/N: Please review. :D Loveliness is accepted everywhere, although flames are taken in and nurtured as well.


	2. pacing

:Zero Tolerance for Insomnia

:mIRAKURU rEIN

--

A/N: Considerably lighter in mood than the last chapter.

A bit of clarification: Gaara is an insomniac, but in the last chapter he falls asleep because of the wounds inflicted on him…hopefully no one realized my stupidity. xD

And if you've noticed, last chapter and this chapter, there are lots of differences between how the regular Naruto world works and how my AU Naruto world works. Be in for surprises.

--

_chapter two: pacing_

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Eyes of red-hot iron burn into him, branding him with fear. Tails flick in the air, teeth bared. The atmosphere of the cell suddenly goes from very cold to too damn hot.

The fox laughs throatily. "_I can smell it you know. Your fear." _He drawls the syllables out.

The kid's heart beats in his ribcage ferociously, but his eyes narrow with resolve.

"_Stupid kid." _The fox laughs again. _"I can hear it too. You can't hide anything from me."_ The animal advances slowly. The kid backs into the small corner of the cell, his mind stale and frozen. Everything around him seems tense – air particles hang, heavy, refusing to enter his lungs – he can't breathe. He is suffocating.

"_You seem like a suitable host," _the fox is saying – but by now the kid can't comprehend anything. He is on his knees, coughing up small teaspoons of blood – everything in his mind is breaking, spinning –

"Naruto."

The fox's red eyes widen. The kid, hand over his mouth, looks up.

The cell door is open, and in its entrance stands a boy with blood irises as dark and scathing as the fox's. Black hair falls around his face carelessly, scowl on his face imprinted clearly.

"Naruto," the boy with blood irises says again – and the fox starts squirming, the orange fur convulsing and transforming into an orange jacket. The angular head of a canine melts into a human head – a boy's head, with shocks of blond hair sticking out everywhere. Claws become fingers, long, muscular haunches straighten out and become legs. The kid watchs in awe – the fox turned into a _human. _

The boy with blood irises merely says nothing, glancing at the kid for a moment and abruptly turning away. "Let's go, Naruto. Sorry for the trouble, kid."

The blond boy groans with life, and wearily pulls himself up from the cement floor. "Sorry –" he manages to spit out – before his limbs fail him and his mass collapses. He had fainted.

The boy with blood irises sighs. He hooks the blond's arm around his neck, then drags him out of the kid's cell down the hallway.

The kid blinks. No one had even bothered to close the cell door.

--

More troubling, he was starting to die.

For days and nights in a row, he had started coughing blood, thin strands of red mingled with his saliva – signs of consumption, tuberculosis. He had made a bet with himself – if he managed to collect at least a cupful of blood from his coughing, he would kill himself – in any way possible. Prisons made it hard for captives to commit suicide. The kid figured the easiest way to do so was to probably to attempt escape and try to put himself within killing range of the guards.

Morose, yes, but would you rather be consumed by your own breathing lungs or be shot down by absolutely apathetic strangers?

--

"I can heal you, you know."

The kid looks up from his bed. He knows the girl was eying his cup warily, his prisoner cup filled halfway with blood-coated phlegm. But he says nothing, and resumes to his curled-up position on his flimsy mattress.

"You might die if I don't heal you."

The kid sighs in annoyance. "How the hell did you get in here?"

She shrugs. "The door was open."

Damn. He should have closed it.

She continues. "I'm surprised you didn't try to leave. Others would've jumped at the opportunity. Others _have_." She scratched her head. "I supposed I should talk to Sasuke about leaving cell doors open…"

"What do you want?" His eyes narrow dangerously, cerulean digging against his bright red strands of hair.

"Simple. I want to heal you."

"_Why?_"

"Because it is an easily reversible condition if you would just _let _me –" Her fingers inch towards his throat, but he swipes her hand away.

"Leave me alone."

"I can't."

He growls audibly. "And why is _that?_"

She smiles sweetly. "Because I'm the prison medic – and if people die of disease here, I lose my job." She cracks her knuckles fiercely. "And God knows what I'd do if _that _happens."

"…Fine. Just get it over with and leave me alone."

"Gladly, you ungrateful twit."

"What was that –?"

She clasps her hands around his neck, moving her fingers gently around the skin, ignoring him.

"Lots of first-timers get what you have. The air here is corrosive and damages the lining of your throat. Once you get used to it, though, the condition goes away and you'll be fine. However…if it goes unchecked, your throat will get so damaged that it just dissolves and you will die, choking on your own blood." She smirks. "How's that for poetic justice?"

"I don't see it at all."

"Hmph. You just have no sense of what _art _is."

"Actually, I _am _–" Her hands start moving down from his neck, and out of surprise, he grabs her wrists.

She laughs. "Relax. I'm just clearing blood from your lungs." Her fingers waver over his chest, then she brings her arm up quickly – the blood comes bursting up his throat, then explodes out from his nose – splattering against the wall behind the medic. She grins.

The kid coughs, grabbing his throat, the red liquid still running from his nostrils. "What the hell was _that _for?"

"Only way to get it out," she says. "If I made it come out your mouth, we would've needed to replace your teeth."

Or maybe she's just pure _evil –_

"Oh and, by the way, I'll see you next week. The procedure needs to be repeated every seven days until the condition disappears."

Oh yes, she's evil.

--

The cell is depressing. It is about the size of a walk-in closet, with only a small mattress and basin to fit in it. The paint job was cement gray, complete with previous habitants' carvings – and the splotches of his own blood now.

The blond boy had come by once, and offered to bring him paint.

"Why would I need paint?"

"I heard you were an artist," he said, extracting a thick brush and a few thin squeeze-bottles of black and blue paint from his pocket. "I dunno, I thought you might be bored."

The blond boy and his friend with blood irises are prison guards, he found out. How they managed to secure such dangerous jobs at their age – the kid might never know.

"My name's Naruto," the boy said, extending his hand for shaking. The kid simply stared and said nothing in response.

The blond boy scratched his head. "Sorry, you know, about the other day…things like that happen…lucky I have Sasuke around, really…"

"What happened?" The whole event had spiked the kid's curiosity, something that was rare for the kid. Nothing was ever interesting enough for him.

"What? Oh, um," the blond smiled sheepishly, "you see, the only reason I have this job is because this demon fox was bound inside my body when I was really small…I can voluntarily unleash it, but sometimes it gets too much for me and takes over my body. Sasuke's the only one that can control it and turn me back…something to do with his eyes…"

So the blond was here to guard the prisoners, and his friend blood irises was here to guard _him_. Interesting.

"So, um, here's the paint, just keep it, will ya? You don't have to tell me your name if you don't want to, so –"

"My name's Gaara."

The blond's face was of complete astonishment, but then it broke into a smile.

"Nice to meet you, Gaara."

For once in his life, the kid actually liked hearing his name.

--

The kid got used to the prison. Nights were sleepless as ever, and he covered his walls with paint, trance-like and half-asleep.

Saturdays called for visits from the medic, who commented on his murals with great fervor.

"I didn't know you were an artist!" she exclaimed. "Sabaku no Gaara, right? I know my friend Ino's bought a few works done by you…"

Naruto dropped in once in a while. "Like the mural…is there any significance to the fans you painted…?"

Even Sasuke came by. "Here's your work duty" – threw a piece of paper at him, and left.

The rest of the week was dedicated to work duties – the kid's particular job was to polish the floors of the apartment of the prison warden himself, a nameless faceless man who lived in a complex above the entire prison itself.

Then arrived his interrogator, his own personal torture chamber. "Your sentence was decided yesterday. You are to be executed in two weeks for the murder of your surrogate sister, Temari." And left.

Cold wind blew in from the south, even though there were no windows to be opened.

--

_Fin_

_End of chapter 2_

_--_

A/N: Hopefully you've figured out most, if not all, of the characters that have appeared so far. Please review!! :D

Next chapter: confinement


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